


Always a Bigger Fish

by devilinthedetails



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Prequel Trilogy
Genre: Adventure, Friendship, Gen, Politics, mentoring
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-30
Updated: 2019-10-26
Packaged: 2020-05-30 23:44:33
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 14
Words: 19,471
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19413955
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/devilinthedetails/pseuds/devilinthedetails
Summary: Assigned to oversee a planetary election recount, Qui-Gon and Obi-Wan discover the arrogance of big fish in small ponds.





	1. The Summons

The Summons 

Qui-Gon pivoted and buried his blazing green lightsaber in the control panel of a training droid, disabling it in a single smooth swing. Beside him, his Padawan’s weapon was a whirlwind, deflecting another training droid’s stun bolts back at it before dispatching it with a swift slash of his burning blue blade. As Qui-Gon lunged to destroy the second-to-last training droid, Obi-Wan raised a hand that sent the final droid clanging into the wall of the clanging dojo, where it broke upon impact. 

Silence save for his own heavy breathing and that of his apprentice suddenly filled the dojo. Surveying the wreckage he and his Padawan had wrought, Qui-Gon was grateful that repairing the damaged droids was not his responsibility but the tedious duty of the Temple mechanics. 

“Good job, Padawan.” Qui-Gon squeezed Obi-Wan’s ever-broadening shoulder, feeling the sweat that had soaked through the fabric, and abruptly aware of the pools that had accumulated on his own brow and the blades of his back. “Using the Force to incapacitate that final droid was particularly well-done.” 

“Thank you, Master.” Obi-Wan’s cheeks, flushed from the exertion of their training exercise, became even redder at Qui-Gon’s praise. To hide his embarrassment, he consulted his chrono. “Our time improved by a full minute.” 

“Excellent.” Qui-Gon gestured at a Roo-wood bench in the corner where they had left their water canteens and towels to dry their foreheads. “Shall we?” 

Obi-Wan nodded and trailed him to the bench. They were barely settled and beginning to gulp from their canteens when Qui-Gon’s comlink rang. 

“Qui-Gon Jinn speaking,” he answered tersely, displeased to be interrupted by a comlink call in the middle of recovering from a training exercise. 

“Master Qui-Gon.” Yoda’s gravelly voice greeted him through the comlink. “The presence of you and your apprentice requires the Council does. A mission for you we have. Briefed in it you must be.” 

“Yes, Master.” Qui-Gon allowed his respect for the Grand Master of the Jedi Order to seep into his words. “My Padawan and I will report to the Council Chamber at once.” 

“Freshen yourselves up first you can.” Yoda’s tone held a glimmer of humor, and Qui-Gon wondered how the ancient, esteemed Jedi had managed to sense that he and his apprentice were sweating buckets through a comlink. “Wait for you the Council will.” 

“Yes, Master. Thank you.” Qui-Gon expressed his gratitude for this courtesy and then offered the traditional Jedi farewell that was a tradition even he, the famed maverick, adhered to a majority of the time. “May the Force be with you.” 

“May the Force be with you.” Yoda echoed Qui-Gon’s words and then closed the comlink connection with a click. 

“The Council has a mission for us?” Obi-Wan asked, eyes as bright a blue as his lightsaber with eagerness at the prospect of embarking on another adventure. 

“Yes.” Qui-Gon returned his comlink to his belt. “We’re to make ourselves presentable before we report to the Council for a briefing.” 

Half an hour later, having washed themselves in sanistreams and donned clean, crisp robes, Qui-Gon and his apprentice stood before the Council after making their bows. 

“Dispatched you will be to the planet Arieli.” Yoda began the briefing with the mention of a planet Qui-Gon had never heard of once he and his Padawan had assumed their customary positions in the center mosaic of the Council Chamber. “Heard of it, have you, Qui-Gon?” 

“No, Master.” Qui-Gon couldn’t remember reading that planet’s name on a galactic map or stumbling across it on the holonews. 

“And you, Padawan?” Yoda’s keen green-gold eyes fixed on Obi-Wan. 

“If I recall correctly, Arieli is the largest of a four planet system orbiting one star in the Mid-Rim.” Obi-Wan had an exceptionally sharp memory so Qui-Gon doubted his Padawan’s recollection was anything less than accurate. “It’s a small planet in both galactic politics and the galactic economy, but it’s the most important planet politically and economically in its system by a significant margin.” 

“Remember correctly you do.” Yoda’s head dipped in approval of Obi-Wan’s recitation, and Qui-Gon could only conclude that his apprentice’s hobby of memorizing random tidbits of information from holobooks had once again paid dividends. 

“Ah.” Qui-Gon stroked at his chin, contemplating what he had just learned of Arieli and concluding that he could expect Arieli’s population to have an inflated perception of their role in the wider galaxy. “Then Arieli is a big fish in a small pond, and we can anticipate its people conducting themselves accordingly because they forget there is always a bigger fish.” 

“Anticipate nothing you can.” Yoda’s gaze pierced into him. “Oversee you will the recount of the election ballots for the planet’s Head of State in the city of Ariani.” 

“The situation on Arieli is volatile.” Grave as ever, Mace Windu steepled his fingers. “Arieli has long been the economic hub of its star system, attracting migrant workers from across the system, but the planet is experiencing an economic downturn. One candidate has embraced the migrant workers as a vital part of Arieli’s economy while the other has publicly accused migrant workers of stealing jobs from Arieli’s natives. This same candidate also blames the Galactic Senate for imposing onerous trade regulations that supposedly have crippled the planet’s once vibrant economy.” 

“Xenophobia and distrust of galactic government thrive on Arieli.” Ki-Adi-Mundi picked up on Mace Windu’s thoughts and completed them. “Yet the current Head of State and the two candidates for this position have requested Jedi oversee the recount of ballots in Ariani. They have faith the Jedi will be impartial in overseeing the recount while they fear officials on their own planet might be induced to act corruptly for political or financial considerations.” 

“My Padawan and I will oversee the recount on Arieli.” Qui-Gon inclined his head, somberly accepting the mission as he had a thousand before it. “We will ensure it is conducted fairly and without a hint of corruption.” 

“A more detailed briefing on the politics of Arieli you will receive from Jocasta Nu in the Archives.” Yoda waved his gimmer stick in dismissal. “Provide you further materials to study on your trip to Arieli she will.” 

“Yes, Master. We will report to her at once.” Qui-Gon bowed, Obi-Wan mirroring his movement, and they took their leaves, heading toward the turbolifts, where they could ride down to the Archives, where Jocasta Nu awaited them with a more comprehensive overview of the politics on Arieli.


	2. The Briefing

The Briefing

“This is Arieli.” Jocasta Nu wasted no time with preliminaries, her snowy hair glowing a glacial blue in the light cast by the hologram of the whirling planet she had activated in front of her wrinkled face. “It has a variety of biomes ranging from the arctic to the tropic, but”—She must have flicked a control concealed within her robes for the hologram zoomed in on a boot-shaped peninsula near the planet’s equator—“Ariani is a tropical city.” 

“A tourist city?” Qui-Gon hadn’t heard of Arieli until the Council meeting, but he knew enough of the galaxy to understand that where there were tropical climates, there were also resorts catering to an endless stream of well-heeled tourists. 

“A tourist city for both Arieli natives and visitors from other planets within the system.” Jocasta Nu gave a brusque nod, confirming his assumption. “The city also attracts many retirees from the colder climates of Arieli, and where there are tourists, cheap labor must be in abundance to operate the resorts. The cheap labor in this case comes from a pool of migrant workers from throughout the system who are willing to work for less than native Arieli, inciting resentment among the native population of Arieli. Due to its diverse demographics, Ariani can be considered a swing city in Arieli’s planetary elections for Head of State with the migrant workers overwhelmingly in favor of the pro-migrant, pro-Republic Renza Osanna, and the retirees rallying around the isolationist Alcide Cesare, who is as opposed to the Galactic Senate as he is to the migrant workers.” 

“If this city is termed a swing city, it must have a substantial impact on the election of the planet’s Head of State.” Qui-Gon stroked his beard, his forehead furrowing. “How do the elections for Head of State work on Arieli?” 

“The planet is divided into fifty-two administrative regions referred to as provinces.” Jocasta Nu sounded as if she had swallowed a galactic encyclopedia from her Archives. “Each province is assigned points to vote for a candidate in an electoral congress with the number of points for every province determined in proportion to the province’s population. Ariani is the largest city in its province, and this its votes influence not only how its province votes for Head of State, but also how the planet as a whole votes for the Head of State. Indeed the last twelve Head of States have all won Ariani, and it’s an old aphorism on Arieli that whoever wins Ariani, wins Arieli.” 

“I see the significance of ensuring a fair recount in Ariani for the people of Arieli,” Qui-Gon said, as Obi-Wan nodded silently and somberly beside him. 

“I have pulled holobooks and holodisks on Ariani and Arieli from the shelves for you and your Padawan to review on your journey.” Jocasta Nu thrust an intimidating tower of materials across a table toward Qui-Gon. “The materials should help assure your success on Arieli. Any questions not addressed in the materials may be posed to me via comlink.” 

“Understood. Thank you for your assistance, Master Nu. May the Force be with you.” Qui-Gon bowed in respectful farewell, Obi-Wan mirroring him a mere heartbeat behind. 

As Jocasta Nu disappeared among the stacks to aid a confused-looking youngling in locating an item for a class, Qui-Gon and Obi-Wan scooped up the stack of materials set aside for them and strode out of the Archives. 

They returned to their quarters, where they hastily packed their bags before hurrying to the Temple hangar. At the hangar, they quickly consulted with the Togrutan Jedi—a male Qui-Gon recognized by sight but couldn’t name—monitoring the arrivals and departures to be directed toward a small ship that would transport them to Arieli. 

“This clunker has seen better decades.” Obi-Wan cast a critical eye over the spacecraft’s paint, which was so chipped that it was impossible to discern what color it had initially been intended to be. 

“Appearances can be deceiving, my young Padawan.” Qui-Gon reminded his apprentice of a truism every youngling was made to memorize during Temple training, smiling slightly to remove some of the sting from the reprimand. “What matters about this craft is its interior, not its exterior.” 

“Yes, Master.” Obi-Wan was all dutiful obedience as he shadowed Qui-Gon up the ship, but as they entered a hallway so compact Qui-Gon had to resist the temptation to suck in his stomach, Obi-Wan added, dry as a picked bone, “Unfortunately, the interior is even less impressive than the exterior.” 

Qui-Gon decided to ignore this. Instead he deposited his bag on a narrow bunk in the cramped sleeping quarters. Obi-Wan’s bag claimed the other bunk, sagging into the protesting mattress. 

They squeezed back along the hallway to the tiny cockpit located at the other end of the ship, where Qui-Gon keyed Arieli’s coordinates into the navcomputer while Obi-Wan completed the Temple-mandated preflight checklist. By the time Obi-Wan had finished with the preflight checklist, the navcomputer was pinging an alert that it had charted a hyperspace course to Arieli. 

Qui-Gon navigated them through Coruscant’s crowded atmosphere. When they were clear of the city-planet’s gravity, he sent the ship into star-streaking hyperspace along the route navicomputer had calculated. 

Piloting through hyperspace required little skill and less attention, so Qui-Gon and Obi-Wan were at liberty to peruse the materials Jocasta Nu had supplied for their research. As the craft was too small and utilitarian to offer a lounge, they remained in the cockpit to conduct this research. 

“You know the best thing about Ariani having a high population of retirees, Master?” Obi-Wan glanced up from what appeared to be a detailed analysis of Ariani’s age demographics with a gleam of what could only be defined as mischief in his gaze. 

“No.” Qui-Gon arched an eyebrow, awaiting his impertinent apprentice’s next sarcastic remark. Obi-Wan provided an ending amount of such comments on a daily basis. “However, I suspect you’ll be only too happy to inform me.” 

“With pleasure, Master,” Obi-Wan chirped with the innocence of a doki bird, which promised nothing but trouble. “You can easily disguise yourself as a retiree.” 

“All I’d need to do is dye my hair durasteel gray.” Qui-Gon tugged teasingly on Obi-Wan’s long Padawan braid. “Is that what you were thinking, my young apprentice?” 

“Not at all, Master.” Obi-Wan persisted with his cheek. “With the amount of gray hairs on your head, I wouldn’t think you’d have to dye your hair to blend in with the retirees.” 

“When you’re old, you’ll hope that the young display more reverence for the aged than you are currently, Padawan.” Qui-Gon tried to sound stern, hiding his amusement at Obi-Wan’s quip. 

“Yes, Master.” Undaunted, Obi-Wan switched on what seemed to be a holovideo of the two candidates running for Head of State on Arieli. “Let’s meet the charming candidates for Arieli’s Head of State, shall we?” 

“Arieli alone must supply its workers!” A hulking figure—even in holovideo—swelled into life in the cockpit, gesticulating fiercely for an invisible but presumably rabid throng. “Arieli alone must govern its economy, not the corrupt bigwigs in the Galactic Senate! Arieli’s economy and trade must be for the benefit of Arieli alone, not leeching migrants. I’m Alcide Cesare, and I stand for Arieli alone now and forever!” 

“A stirring speech.” Obi-Wan emitted a contemptuous snort. “His slogan is Arieli alone. Very subtle the way he integrates it into every sentence, never mentioning, of course, how dependent Arieli is on migrant workers or the larger galaxy for its economic survival. Arieli can’t stand alone any more than a table can be supported by one leg, but he conveniently ignores that when he spews his propaganda.” 

“Subtlety isn’t the objective of election speeches.” Qui-Gon sighed. “The objective is to appeal to the maximum number of simpletons to draw their votes.” 

Obi-Wan made no reply as the holovideo shifted to a severe woman with her hair tucked into a no-nonsense bun from which no hair appeared to have a chance of escape. 

“I believe in an Arieli for all,” she shouted, eyes widening in a passion that seemed to be before the benefit of the holocameras. “An Arieli for all means an Arieli that welcomes migrant workers to our bustling cities and fertile farms. An Arieli for all is one that embraces all the sister worlds in our vast Galactic Republic. I am Renza Osanna, and a vote for me is a vote for an Arieli for all.” 

“An Arieli for all,” Obi-Wan repeated, rolling his eyes. “That’s her slogan, but she only cares about an Arieli where migrant workers can continue to provide cheap labor to support the faltering economy so wealthy natives of Arieli don’t lose any of their precious credits.” 

“We’ve been dispatched to Arieli to assure a fair recount in Ariani, not to admire the planet’s politicians,” Qui-Gon pointed out. “Not that you’ve ever encountered a politician you admire.” 

“It’s just as well that I haven’t because I might collapse into cardiac arrest from the shock if I did.” Obi-Wan pushed himself out of his chair, heading toward the craft’s galley. “I’m going on a reconnaissance mission to investigate if there’s anything edible in the galley. I need a meal and a break from the politicians.” 

The sound of rummaging through frozen foodpacks reached Qui-Gon from the galley followed by Obi-Wan’s voice raised in question. “Would you care to make a selection from our wide array of frozen foodpacks, Master?” 

“Surprise me,” Qui-Gon called back, resuming his reading on the politics of Arieli. 

Minutes later, he heard the beep of the tetrawave as the foodpacks finished heating, and then Obi-Wan reappeared in the cockpit, bearing a steaming plastoid dish in each hand. 

“The most delectable zuchii in the galaxy for you, Master.” Obi-Wan placed an immensely unappetizing meal before Qui-Gon’s crinkling nose—“and the finest nerf steak for me. We’re truly living luxuriously aboard this starship.” 

“Do you take me for a Hutt, Padawan?” Qui-Gon studied his zuchii with a distinct lack of excitement. He was reasonably certain only Hutts and similar species derived any pleasure from consuming zuchii. Plainly Obi-Wan had interpreted his order to surprise him too literally. 

“You do look rather green now that you mention it, Master.” Obi-Wan stared at Qui-Gon with mock concern as he chomped into a hearty cut of nerf steak. 

“That would be the zuchii.” Qui-Gon bit back a growl as he gnawed a scalding slice of zuchii his Padawan had overcooked in the tetrawave.


	3. Surface Luxury

Surface Luxury

As soon as they entered Arieli’s atmosphere, Qui-Gon and Obi-Wan were hailed by the harsh voice of planet security demanding to know their identity and business on Arieli. Once Qui-Gon explained they were the Jedi summoned to oversee the re-count in Ariani, the security officer’s manner thawed and coordinates to a landing pad at Ariani’s spaceport were swiftly sent. 

He handed the controls to Obi-Wan so his Padawan could navigate their landing and watched the gleaming transports of a hundred wealthy tourists stream into and out of Ariani’s teaming spaceport. 

“Our ship looks as out of place in this shining company as an acklay at a dress ball,” Obi-Wan muttered, steering their craft onto their designated landing pad and beginning to complete the post-flight procedures. 

“The Arieli government must see our role here as very important.” Qui-Gon rose from his chair as his apprentice finished the post-flight procedures and they strode out of the cockpit together. “Otherwise they wouldn’t have told us to park our ship near such illustrious company.” 

They squeezed down the craft’s narrow hallway and disembarked onto the landing pad, where they were greeted by a woman clad in scarlet shimmersilk. Her wide smile seemed fake as her long, painted fingernails and dyed hair. 

“Welcome to the sunshine city of Ariani.” She curtsied to them, smile reaching her ears but never her eyes. “I’m Catia, senior aide to our Head of State Darius. He has assigned me to your official greeter and asked me to assure that you arrive at the accommodations he has arranged for you as our honored guests.” 

“It’s a pleasure to meet you.” Qui-Gon bowed to the aide, his Padawan copying the routine but respectful motion beside him. “We are grateful for any accommodations the Head of State has arranged on our behalf.” 

“I trust you’ll find the accommodations the Head of State has arranged for you most comfortable.” Catia coaxed them toward a waiting airspeeder that sparkled a dazzling gray in the tropical sunlight. A squadron of black-robed guards Qui-Gon wasn’t supposed to detect but did slipped behind him and Obi-Wan as they allowed Catia to guide them to the airspeeder. “You’ll be in the penthouse suite of our finest resort in Ariani when you aren’t overseeing our re-count.” 

Qui-Gon and Obi-Wan sank into the soft veda seats on one side of the airspeeder while Catia spread her dress around her in a seat on the opposite side of the airspeeder. 

“This airspeeder is larger and more luxurious than the starship we arrived in,” commented Obi-Wan in an undertone, breath whispering against the shell of Qui-Gon’s ear. Obviously his contempt for politicians didn’t extend to the airspeeders they dispatched to collect Jedi assigned to their worlds. 

“Don’t be distracted by the surface luxury, Obi-Wan,” Qui-Gon chided in a murmur, and his apprentice fell silent, flushing slightly. “Keep your focus on the truth of your surroundings buried beneath the surface luxury.” 

“Yes, Master. I won’t be deceived by the surface luxury.” Obi-Wan nodded, fixing his gaze on the viewscreen above Catia’s head, which seemed to be tinted to permit the airspeeder’s occupants to look out while rendering it impossible for anyone outside the vehicle to observe what was transpiring within the airspeeder. A perfect viewscreen for a politician, Qui-Gon thought. 

Taking some of his own advice bout observing his surroundings, Qui-Gon stared out of the viewscreen nearest him as the airspeeder flew down Ariani’s broad boulevards planted with trees that had great purple palm fronds for branches. Colorful awnings shaded fashionably attired pedestrians as they strolled from one ship to the next, bags of prior purchases swinging from their arms in the mild breeze stirring across Ariani from the ocean. 

Fountains shot forth water in a rainbow at every square they passed, and everything would have seemed serene if not for the cracks in the surface luxury that betrayed a population in turmoil seething beneath the glittering facade of the tourist city. Arieli was a world that guaranteed freedom of expression, and evidence of that could be glimpsed in glowing holosigns in store windows that proclaimed a shocking spectrum of political beliefs: Renza Osanna for Head of State! Alcide Cesare is Arieli’s hope! Arieli for all! Arieli alone! Osanna is a sore loser! Cesare can’t count! 

Qui-Gon could only imagine that the slogans would be more profane and take the form of graffiti rather than holosigns in Ariani’s poorer districts, the districts that he wouldn’t be shown on this route that was designed to assure him all was tranquil on Arieli. 

His assumption that he wouldn’t be permitted to see Ariani’s poorer districts was proven correct as the airspeeder soared into a city section devoted to towering resorts overlooking a turquoise ocean and black sand beaches. 

The airspeeder parked in front of the highest of these resorts, and Catia swept them out of the airspeeder and into the climate-controlled coolness of the resort’s lobby. They were led through the lobby carved from blue-veined marble doubtlessly unique to Arieli to a bank of turbolifts that carried them to their suite at the top of the building. 

“If you have any needs during your stay here, the concierge in the lobby will be happy to address them,” Catia trilled over the turbolift chiming to indicate they had arrived at the level of their penthouse suite. “The Head of State has called a meeting with the honored Jedi and the two candidates for Head of State to discuss the re-count procedures tomorrow morning. The airspeeder will convey you there tomorrow at your convenience.” 

Stepping into the landing that opened onto their suite, Qui-Gon and Obi-Wan received their access cards from Catia before bidding her farewell. 

Qui-Gon swiped his card through the scanner, which glowed green as his lightsaber before the door slid upward to admit them. As they entered, the sight of greel wood caf tables flanked by veda sofas welcomed them. Ceramic bowls of liwi, jogan, and muja fruit served as centerpieces for the tables. 

Obi-Wan snatched a liwi fruit from a bowl as he collapsed into the veda cushions of a couch in what plainly was intended as the penthouse’s parlor. 

“What are your impressions?” Qui-Gon arched an eyebrow at his apprentice. 

“This sofa is much softer than the bunk I slept on during the journey here, and this liwi is exquisite, far superior to any food I ate on the trip here.” Obi-Wan shifted into what could only be described as an ungainly sprawl across the couch. “I’ll never want to leave here now.” 

“That’s not what I meant.” Qui-Gon tossed a decorative pillow at his Padawan’s smirking face. “I meant what were your impressions of Ariani.” 

“Why didn’t you say so, Master?” Obi-Wan’s hand snaked out to catch the pillow before it hit its impudent target. “Ariani seems to be a prosperous, peaceful tourist city.” 

“An impression the government is eager for you to have?” Qui-Gon prompted. 

“Yes, Master.” Obi-Wan nodded. “There were slogans speaking to a turmoil beneath the surface calm. I wonder what we would have seen in the poorer districts where the migrant workers who make all this luxury possible live.” 

“The Arieli government won’t want to show us such sordid places—they’ll want to present their best faces to us.” Qui-Gon stroked his beard. “We must contrive a way to see the poorer districts at tomorrow’s meeting.” 

“How will we do that, Master?” Obi-Wan cocked his head inquisitively. 

“That’s a worry for tomorrow.” Qui-Gon emerged from his musing with a grin. “For tonight, we’ll worry about finding a good dinner and meditating somewhere quiet on the beach.” 

“Sounds like a vacation.” Obi-Wan rolled off the sofa, as always motivated by the promise of a delicious meal. 

“Even Jedi need the rare vacation.” Qui-Gon chuckled as they left their suite, the door locking with an automatic click in their wake. 

Along the black beach, they found a cafe, where a smooth-sounding Jatz band played an accompaniment to the steady rhythm of the waves drumming agains the sand. They ordered dishes of tropical fish baked in a Rodian pepper sauce washed down by glasses of refreshingly chilled smoothies made from fresh pta fruit, a sweetness that contrasted with the sharp spiciness of the Rodian pepper sauce perfectly. 

After paying for their meal, they stepped out onto the black sand and wandered along the beach until they located a quiet place to meditate. Sitting cross-legged on the sand beside his Padawan, Qui-Gon gently reached out to touch Obi-Wan’s mind with his own in the Force, bridging any gap that might have existed between their beings so they breathed and thought as one. 

Qui-Gon constructed an image of serenity for himself and Obi-Wan—a beautiful black beach at sunset—and felt both their heartbeats slow as their muscles relaxed and any worries about the mission faded into calm. In what could have been a moment or an eternity because they were meditating in a timeless place, Qui-Gon felt Obi-Wan expand on their shared mental image, adding tropical birds that sailed through the sunset sky, wings outstretched to embrace the paradise he and Obi-Wan were building in their minds during their joint meditation.


	4. Disturb the Peace

Disturb the Peace

Morning in Ariani meant temperatures at human body heat, and Qui-Gon imagined that by noon when the planet’s sun was at its scorching peak, the temperature would rise to that of a feverish human. Sweat sticking the thick material of his robes to his back, Qui-Gon found himself envying the shimmersilk swaying around Catia as she approached them outside their resort to accompany them on their airspeeder ride to the meeting at the Head of State’s office. 

Perhaps similar thoughts were swirling in Obi-Wan’s mind for his Padawan, sweat beading his forehead, leaned close to whisper, “We could shop for lighter clothing better suited to a tropical environment at the stores we saw yesterday.” 

“A tempting suggestion.” Qui-Gon smiled slightly as he shook his head. “Unfortunately, our objective is to appear as Jedi in our distinctive robes rather than blend in the local or tourist populations.” 

“The Council wouldn’t be pleased with the bill anyway.” Obi-Wan was perpetually concerned with the Council’s opinion on every conceivable issue. It was a marvel it didn’t become exhausting to him, Qui-Gon often thought. “Those stores looked as if they would charge an arm and a leg for a piece of clothing.” 

Catia reached them, beaming her broad grin that never warmed her cool eyes, before Qui-Gon could reply. The three of them exchanged greetings and admired the cloudless blue sky as they boarded the airspeeder Head of State Darius had sent to convey them to the morning’s meeting. 

“I hope your evening was peaceful and pleasant,” Catia commented as she, Qui-Gon, and Obi-Wan sank into the soft veda seats of the airspeeder. 

“We enjoyed a delicious meal at an oceanfront cafe and a walk along the beautiful beach.” Qui-Gon looked at her but also beyond her out of the viewscreen at the cityscape streaming past, alert for any signs of what might be lurking beneath the serene surface so scrupulously cultivated by Arieli’s leadership. 

“Then you’ve enjoyed some of the many charms Ariani has to offer. We’re passing the Water World, another one of Ariani’s greatest charms.” Catia waved a palm at a gilded gate gleaming golden as the sun shining on it from above. “It spans seven city blocks and has resorts attached to the theme park, making it the largest theme park in the system. During its highest tourist season, it can attract almost fifty-three-thousand visitors a day.” 

At her words, Qui-Gon could easily pain a picture in his head of thousands of children squealing in mingled terror and delight as they sped down the park’s many slides and rides tall as skytowers or begging parents to buy them sweets and fried food as they waited on long lines for such attractions. 

Apparently sharing his mental image, Obi-Wan observed, “The long lines in the hot sun must be difficult to manage.” 

“Our Water World has mastered the art of keeping guests comfortable in the heat,” Catia assumed them as the theme park faded from view. “They have fans constantly blowing air over visitors as they wait on line, and music blaring from speakers to entertain everyone. The crowds are always wonderfully controlled at Water World.” 

In the city outside the airspeeder, Qui-Gon finally caught a glimpse of a crowd not well-controlled on Ariani. In a square filled with statues of what seemed to be previous leaders of Ariani before a classically constructed building with imposing pillars to mark it as the seat of government in Ariani, two opposing masses of protestors. 

Qui-Gon could read their placards promoting their candidates and visions of Arieli, and through the metal of the airspeeder, he could hear the throng shouting contradictory demands for a re-count and insistence that migrant workers be removed from the planet to protect native jobs. The scene wasn’t violent, but it was chaotic. His keen gaze could detect uniformed security guards among the multitude. He hoped they were only present to preserve the peace, not stifle free speech. 

The airspeeder landed in a patch of square not yet overtaken by the hollering hordes. Security officers provided a protective ring around the Jedi and Catia as they disembarked and strode toward the building where their meeting with Head of State Darius was scheduled to occur, the discordant shouting of the crowd competing for attention in their eardrums with every step they took. 

“My apologies for the disorder you witnessed.” Catia’s voice was barely audible over the rumble of the seething masses behind them as a security guard slammed the door shut behind them, the sound echoing in the soaring atrium of the grand government building. “I know how the Jedi treasure serenity. I’m certain the atmosphere must never be so hectic in your Temple.” 

“Jedi value inner serenity.” Qui-Gon fixed his eyes on her suddenly very blinking ones. “It’s this inner peace that we strive to carry with us on missions to share with other beings so we may be a calm center in any storm.” 

“The Jedi are wise.” Catia gave a prim nod as if agreeing with herself. “Yet Ariani cannot rely on all its visitors to be so understanding of those who disturb the peace of this tropical paradise. That’s why all the citizens of Ariani are strongly encouraged to be discreet in expressing their political views.” 

“They might be strongly encouraged to be discreet in expressing their political opinions but their rights to free speech would surely never be infringed upon, I trust?” Qui-Gon arched an eyebrow. 

“Of course Arieli would never violate the free speech rights of any of our citizens.” Catia spoke too briskly to be entirely convincing before making a sweeping gesture to encompass the painted dome of the atrium above their heads and beginning a detailed account of its creation at the skilled hands of one of Arieli’s most esteemed artists. 

Once Qui-Gon and Obi-Wan had made appropriately awed remarks on the artist’s incredible talent, Catia steered them onto a turbolift with speakers emitting an understated Selonian etude, a musical selection Qui-Gon suspected was carefully chosen to sound tranquil and cultured. In a matter of minutes, they would be meeting Head of State Darius and the two candidates for his successor. He breathed deeply, preparing himself for all possibilities as he rooted himself in the eternal present of the Force, and felt Obi-Wan do the same beside him.


	5. Forgotten Men and Women

Forgotten Men and Women

“Head of State Darius.” Catia slipped into a curtsy as she and the Jedi entered a large, sunny conference room high in the government building. As she rose from her curtsy, she indicated the Jedi with a smiling sweep of her hand. “Please allow me to introduce the honored Jedi who have traveled to Arieli to preside over Ariani’s re-count, Qui-Gon Jinn and Obi-Wan Kenobi.” 

Qui-Gon and Obi-Wan bowed to Arieli’s Head of State as they were introduced. 

“Welcome to Arieli.” Head of State Darius seemed to emanate charisma in the same way the tropical sun over Ariani did light. Shaking first Qui-Gon and then Obi-Wan’s hand with a broad beam across his face, he continued, “We appreciate any assistance you can provide throughout Ariani’s re-count to ensure that it is conducted as peacefully and fairly as possible.” 

“Jedi always do all we can to maintain peace and justice on any planet.” Qui-Gon inclined his head in acknowledgment of the Head of State’s words as he observed out of the corner of his vision Catia depart from the room. 

“I’m Renza Osanna.” Renza Osanna’s smile seemed far more forced than the one Head of State Darius had offered. “I hope that the Jedi understand that many of my supporters are questioning the validity of the election count in Ariani because my campaign has heard disturbing rumors of ballots from migrant worker districts disappearing before they can be tallied and dead people voting in the election in favor of my opponent.” 

“Everyone on Arieli has heard disturbing rumors of your corruption,” blustered Alcide Cesare, who was even more boorish in person than he had been in holovideo, Qui-Gon was dismayed to discover. “This demand for a re-count is just another preposterous display of your rampant corruption. You’re attempting to silence the forgotten men and women of Arieli who have already spoken overwhelmingly in this election, crying out for me to lead them to prosperity.” 

“The Jedi are here to ensure that all voices are heard in Ariani and that the re-count proceeds fairly so that can happen.” Qui-Gon tried to inject a note of calm and dignity into the meeting that seemed to have been lost with Cesare’s wild outburst. 

“Why doesn’t everyone be seated”—Head of State Darius gestured at a table of polished wood that shone in the sunlight streaming through the windows and probably cost more than a migrant worker made in a year—“and we’ll discuss the procedures for the re-count.” 

Qui-Gon settled into a plush chair, watching as Obi-Wan claimed the seat across from him. Facing the windows, Qui-Gon noticed the mass of protestors in the square below being herded into security speeders by guards armed with electro-jabbers. He would have to address this breach of their civil rights with the Head of State before the meeting’s conclusion, he determined, forehead furrowing. 

“You mentioned rumors of ballots disappearing before they could be counted?” Qui-Gon fixed an inquiring gaze on Renza Osanna. “Am I to understand that all votes in Ariani are cast by flimsi, not electronically?” 

“That understanding would be correct.” Renza Osanna sipped at the iced caf that had been placed before her and every other person at the table. Given Ariani’s tropical climate, Qui-Gon could only assume that iced caf was far more popular in the city than its hot counterpart. “All votes on Arieli are cast by hand on flimsi. We believe electronic votes can more easily be sabotaged and corrupted than those cast by flimsi.” 

Qui-Gon nodded, accepting without comment this demonstration of the paranoia that seemed to be so prevalent on Arieli, but Obi-Wan couldn’t refrain from remarking sarcastically, “Wonderful. That’ll require days of us squinting at ballots to spot indistinguishable marks until we’re seeing double.” 

“What my Padawan means is we’ll be happy to do anything in our power to guarantee a fair re-count in Ariani since that’s what we came here to do.” Qui-Gon shot his apprentice a quelling glance, using his firmest tone to cover the fact that this had plainly not been what Obi-Wan had intended. 

“The young man’s distress is palpable and understandable.” Head of State Darius flashed a silver smile swift as lightning. “We hope the Jedi won’t be doing too much of the squinting. At every voting station, we have appointed ten teams of four people—two who support each candidate—to review the ballots. Within each team, a majority of at least three people must reach a consensus on how each ballot should be counted. If such a majority decision can’t be reached, the ballot will go uncounted. Any person suspected of delaying or compromising these proceedings will be removed and arrested to be replaced by a more competent being. The Jedi will move between the voting stations, as impartial and esteemed outsiders assuring the proceedings are carried out without the taint of corruption. All beings will be expected to cooperate fully with the Jedi in the course of this re-count, and the Jedi may appeal to my office for support if they fail to receive it from anyone associated with the re-count.” 

“The Jedi value your support and would never want any corruption to taint Ariani.” Qui-Gon locked eyes with Head of State Darius. “That’s why the Jedi recommend that you promptly release the protesters you’ve arrested for expressing their political views outside this building as we entered this morning.” 

“You can’t imagine the protesters were jailed for exercising their free speech rights. Such an outrage would never be tolerated on Arieli.” Head of State Darius sounded scandalized as any politician ever accused of wrongdoing. “They were only transferred to their homes for their own safety before violence broke out and they started attacking one another. Everything was done for their own protection, of course.” 

Qui-Gon thought that no tyranny was quite so terribly oppressive as the one inflicted for the supposed safety of its civilians. 

Before he could respond, Alcide Cesare snapped, “This is outrageous! Yet another awful example of the forgotten men and women on Arieli having their rights to free speech trampled on when they dare to speak the truth to power and demand justice. The forgotten men and women of Arieli will not be heard until I’m Head of State!” 

“You don’t represent the forgotten men and women of Arieli,” retorted Renza Osanna, cheeks flushed pink with her ire. “You and your supporters forget the many migrant workers of Arieli. You represent only the most bigoted beings on Ariei, and you should be ashamed of stirring such xenophobic sentiments in them.” 

“Leaders exchanging insults will not help assure the peace on Arieli that I’m certain is everybody’s goal.” Qui-Gon lifted a hand to quiet the feuding politicians even as he wondered if the problem on Arieli was that there were no true leaders among the candidates for Head of State. “Head of State Darius, I’m relieved that the protestors have been returned safely to their homes.” 

Though, of course, he planned to verify the truth of that, it would be an affront to the Head of State to announce that intention. 

“Excellent.” Head of State Darius gave a broad beam clearly designed as a dismissal. “The speeder you arrived in will be waiting to transport you back to your quarters. I suggest you rest as much as possible before the re-count commences at dawn tomorrow.” 

“I appreciate your advice.” Qui-Gon didn’t mention that he wouldn’t be following it. 

With bows and farewells, the meeting drew to a close. Qui-Gon and Obi-Wan allowed the two candidates for Head of State to proceed them out of the room into the hallway.

“I hate politicians,” muttered Obi-Wan, watching Alcide Cesare and Renza Osanna disappear down different turbolifts. “Have I mentioned that before?”

“Only a dozen times a mission. As your master, I must remind you that hate—even of politicians—leads to the Dark Side.” Qui-Gon found it hard to be stern when a chuckle was rising in his chest. 

“Yes, Master.” Obi-Wan’s answer appeared to be mainly respectful reflex for he asked in the next breath, “Isn’t Alcide Cesare especially loathsome for a politician with how he’s stirring up mass resentment for migrant workers and the Republic?” 

“I’m afraid that Alcide Cesare’s political philosophy of stirring up mass resentment for outsiders and the galactic government is not as unique as he would believe it is, Padawan.” Qui-Gon sighed, a heaviness replacing the chuckle in his chest. “Many worlds have dealt with an Alcide Cesare type figure, and many more will have to contend with one in the future.” 

“Still the way he was yammering on about the forgotten men and women of Arieli when he was raised in a family so high in Arieli society he would’ve needed an oxygen tank to breathe according to the biography Master Nu gave us was very grating, wasn’t it?” Obi-Wan was still scowling at the turbolift down which Alcide Cesare had vanished. 

“Alcide Cesare isn’t our concern right now.” Qui-Gon rested a steadying palm on his apprentice’s shoulder until Obi-Wan’s attention shifted to focus on him entirely. “Our concern is the forgotten men and women of Arieli that exist on both sides of the political spectrum who feel ignored by the planetary government. We must speak to their leaders and try to convince them that they have more in common with one another than they can possibly imagine. We must also listen to their concerns so we can communicate them to the planetary government that can address those concerns. That’s the best path to peace and justice on Arieli.” 

“We’ll also be able to check that Head of State Darius was telling the truth when he claimed the protesters had been released since we’ll learn if their leaders are home or still imprisoned.” Obi-Wan’s eyes gleamed. “How will we know who their leaders are, though?” 

“That’s what Master Nu is for, my young apprentice.” Qui-Gon guided Obi-Wan toward the turbolift bank. “We’ll have her research that for us much more ably than we could ourselves.”


	6. A More Harmonious Society

A More Harmonious Society

As soon as he and Obi-Wan were settled in the speeder transporting them back to the resort they were staying for the duration of the mission, Qui-Gon activated his comlink and entered Jocasta Nu’s frequency. Since many Jedi relied on her research to aid them on their missions, he was prepared for the possibility of leaving a message with his request, but he was pleased when she answered briskly, “Master Nu speaking.” 

“It’s Qui-Gon Jinn.” Qui-Gon identified himself and then quickly outlined his request. “Going into our meeting with the current Head of State this morning, Obi-Wan and I noticed protestors supporting both candidates for the future Head of State. We believe those protestors may have been detained by security guards briefly before being released from custody. We need the names of the leaders from each side so we can talk with them.” 

“If they were detained, their names and reasons for detention will be public record, because the Arieli government believes maintaining a public record of all detentions creates a more harmonious society,” Jocasta Nu replied without a pause to remember this fact. “By sifting through the public record, it would become clear very swiftly who the leaders of each side are, since their names would keep cropping up with political agitation as the reason for their detention.” 

“Nobody would be swifter at sifting through that information than you,” Qui-Gon assured her.

“It’ll take some time for me to sift through the information nevertheless.” Jocasta Nu emitted a snort that communicated her immunity to his efforts at flattery. He could hear the tapping of her datapad in the background as she closed the call with a curt: “I’ll call you back when I have the information you need.” 

Qui-Gon would have thanked her but she ended the communication with a click before the words could leave his lips. 

They had just returned to the privacy of their penthouse suite when Qui-Gon’s comlink buzzed with an incoming call. The second he accepted it, Jocasta Nu said without preliminary, “Alessa Piera and Lazzaro Quintino are frequently detained by security for their own safety and not contributing to the creation of a more harmonious society. They have both been fined sums of five thousand credits on multiple occasions for endangering themselves and inconveniencing security.” 

“Five thousand credits.” Qui-Gon frowned as he grabbed a pad of flimsi from the suite’s desk to copy down the names of the two agitators Jocasta Nu had mentioned. “That’s double what a low wage worker would make in a month.” 

“Yes.” Jocasta Nu went on, “Alessa Piera is suspected of leading the Migrant Advocacy Group, while Lazzaro Quintino is believed to lead the Workers of Ariani Party.” 

Jotting down the factions these beings were thought to lead next to their names, Qui-Gon asked, “Are their addresses a matter of public record as well?” 

Jocasta Nu responded in the affirmative and provided Qui-Gon with the addresses where both leaders lived when not detained by security. Qui-Gon wrote down this information on his flimsi and managed to say a swift farewell to Jocasta Nu before she hung up on him. 

“I have the names of the leaders, their parties, and their addresses recorded here,” Qui-Gon told Obi-Wan, who had been watching the conversation with some curiosity. “I don’t want to alert the government to our visiting these people they see as agitators, so we can’t ask the speeder we’ve been assigned to transport us there. We must find another way to travel through the city.” 

“Public transit perhaps?” Obi-Wan scooped up a colorful map of Ariani’s airbus networks that had been placed on the suite’s desk. Consulting it alongside the addresses Qui-Gon had copied down, he decided on a route. “We take the yellow line down three stops to where we can transfer to the gray line. If we take the gray line five stops, we’ll arrive near Alessa Piera’s address. When we’re done speaking with her, we can ride the gray line for a stop, then transfer to the brown line, which we’ll need to take for two stops before we arrive by Lazzaro Quintino’s address.” 

“That will give us an opportunity to see more of Ariani than its tourist and government districts.” Qui-Gon nodded his approval of Obi-Wan’s suggestion. “It wouldn’t surprise me if we find the districts where the migrant workers and poorer natives of Arieli live are considerably more rundown than the ones we’ve seen so far. Those with power often neglect those without it.” 

In silence, they took the turbolift down to the lobby, where they blended in with a flock of tourists chattering eagerly about all the shopping they were planning to do in downtown Ariani. In the midst of this group of excited tourists with hundreds of credits to burn, they walked down the sun-dappled pedwalk to the end of the block, where they reached a shaded airbus station complete with a whirring fan to cool them while they awaited the arrival of the airbus. 

Within minutes, an airbus that gleamed almost blindingly in the tropical sunlight landed before the station. Qui-Gon and Obi-Wan boarded with the stream of tourists, paying the driver for their tickets as they climbed onto the airbus. The moment they stepped onto the airbus they felt the relief of a comfortably cool temperature maintained by a well-functioning air cooling system, and when Qui-Gon slipped into an empty seat, he realized the seats were covered with cushions as bright a yellow as Ariani’s tropical sun. No doubt the sunny cushions were a homage to the airbus line’s name. 

“Very luxurious public transit for Ariani’s tourists,” Qui-Gon murmured to his Padawan, who sat beside him. “Unlikely that the migrant workers and poorer natives of Arieli get to travel around the city in equal comfort.” 

“Very unlikely,” agreed Obi-Wan dryly. 

When they transferred to the gray line, they did indeed find themselves boarding a rusty airbus with an interior as discouraging as its exterior. The gray plastoid seats appeared so filthy that Qui-Gon and his apprentice preferred to hold onto a ceiling railing for support rather than risk contracting disease as the airbus sped through Ariani’s migrant district, and the air cooling system must have been non-functional because the fetid air never circulated while the Jedi were aboard.

It was a relief to debark the airbus five stops later. Glancing around him to gain his bearings, Qui-Gon saw no traces of the colorful awnings and fountains that had dominated the cityscape in the wealthier districts of Ariani. Crumbling gray ferrocrete was the distinguishing feature of the migrant district whether in the horizontal form of its litter-strewn streets or the vertical conapts that stretched into the sky like storm clouds. The only color in this district appeared to be rude, semi-illiterate graffiti painted onto the walls of the conapts. 

“Makes the Crimson Corridor seem like prize real estate, doesn’t it, Master?” Obi-Wan shook his head at the drab surroundings, referring to a high crime neighborhood of Coruscant a mere ten kilometers from the Jedi Temple. 

“The Crimson Corridor is certainly more colorful.” Qui-Gon’s lips quirked. “However, no doubt that’s due to its much higher concentration of gangs, criminals, and street predators.” 

“Well, if we’ve learned one thing since we arrived in Ariani, it’s how important promoting a more harmonious society is to the government,” remarked Obi-Wan in his archest tone. 

“Do try to keep your sarcasm to a minimum in our upcoming conversation,” warned Qui-Gon as they reached Alessa Piera’s conapt complex and began climbing the stairs—the turbolift was out of order according to a sign that appeared old enough to hint repairs wouldn’t be made soon—to reach the number indicated by her address. 

“Don’t I always, Master?” Obi-Wan flashed Qui-Gon his most innocent expression. 

They were standing outside Alessa Piera’s conapt, so Qui-Gon contented himself with shooting his apprentice a stern stare before pressing the button to alert Alessa Piera that she had visitors. 

“You aren’t security?” A thin woman with hair staticky from the humidity and a sheen of sweat shining on her forehead opened the door a sliver, her eyes wary. “I thought security might be coming to detain and fine me again. My husband already works around the chrono to pay the fines I earn for daring to speak out against injustice.” 

“We aren’t security.” Qui-Gon tried to inject calm into his voice, so that the woman wouldn’t be tempted to slam the door on their faces. “We’re Jedi assigned to ensure the re-count in Ariani proceeds fairly.” 

“You belong at the polling stations.” The woman didn’t appear ready to invite them into her quarters. “My conapt isn’t a polling station.” 

“We know that you lead the Migrant Advocacy Group and that you were detained by the government today for the the protest you organized outside the Head of State’s office, Alessa Piera.” Qui-Gon saw that the use of her name captured Alessa’s attention and interest. “Like you, we wish to see justice achieved on Arieli. Will you let us in so that we might hear more of your grievances and objectives?” 

“I suppose it would do no harm to speak with you.” Alessa had the jaded manner of one who had been disappointed too many times by authority figures who should have promoted justice but instead only encouraged injustice. “Not that I expect it will do any good either.” 

“I respect her cynicism, Master,” Obi-Wan whispered to Qui-Gon, who noted inwardly that his Padwan was always prepared to appreciate well-developed irony in others, as Alessa stepped back to admit them into her conapt.


	7. Planting a Seed

Planting a Seed

As soon as he stepped over the threshold into Alessa’s conapt, humidity closed around him along with the door that shut behind him and his apprentice. Obviously Alessa and her husband couldn’t afford the luxury of an air cooling system. As if to compensate for this absence, the viewports around the conapt were all open wide in the vain hope of inviting in a breeze that seldom swept this far from the shore.

“Please sit.” Alessa gestured toward a tattered sofa. “Forgive the dismal lack of climate control.”

“There’s no need to apologize.” Qui-Gon claimed a seat on the couch, noticing with a flare of discomfort that every spring in his cushion seemed to have been broken several solar cycles ago. If Obi-Wan’s slight wince beside him was any indication, the cushion his Padawan had taken was in a similarly shabby state. “I’m only sorry you must live in these conditions.”

“This is the better life we migrant workers were promised on Arieli.” Alessa’s expressive eye roll encompassed the entire rundown conapt. “The sad thing is it’s still better than the life we would’ve led if we’d never come to Arieli. What pitiful space rats we migrant workers are.”

“Did you form the Migrant Advocacy Group to campaign for better working and living conditions for migrant workers?” Qui-Gon asked, thinking the squalid living conditions the migrant workers endured could easily inspire such a movement.

“No, I’m not such an optimist as that.” Alessa shook her head. “I founded the Migrant Advocacy Group to protect the working and living conditions currently common for migrant workers on Arieli. I didn’t intend to do anything so ambitious as push for better working and living conditions for migrant workers. Still, I’m labeled as a radical by planet security and fined for disturbing the peace. I’ve also been fired from the job I worked for ten years cleaning in the same resort you’re staying in just for daring to attract any attention to myself and the other migrant workers on Arieli.”

“Why did you feel that you had to protect the current working and living conditions of migrant workers on Arieli?” Qui-Gon posed the question even though he suspected he already knew the answer: Alcide Cesare and the xenophobic sentiments his fiery speeches had sparked among the poorer natives of Arieli. Asking questions was essential to understanding motivations, and thus, to resolving political crises like the one rocking Ariani. “Did you feel they were threatened?”

“Of course I did.” Alessa stared at Qui-Gon as if he were shuffle short of a sabaac card. “Have you heard any of Alcide Cesare’s campaign speeches? As soon as he began his campaign two years ago with his attacks on migrant workers, I started my group to protest him and promote Renza Osanna. He hates migrant workers and wants to expel us all from Arieli.”

“That’s campaign promises,” Obi-Wan pointed out, his cynicism challenging Alessa’s. “Politicians never keep those. They just say whatever they believe they must to get elected.”

“Then it’s disturbing any politician would believe he has to promise to expel us from Arieli to get elected.” Alessa scowled. “Would you trust your life and livelihood to a dishonest politician?”

“You seem to be doing so.” Obi-Wan could no more resist a political debate with an activist of any stripe than he could refrain from gobbling a dessert placed before him on a gleaming platter. “You’re promoting Renza Osanna as you said yourself. You can’t possibly buy her slogan about building an Arieli for all.”

“I don’t trust her any farther than I could throw her against the wind in hurricane coming in off the ocean,” Alessa retorted. “It’s just that at least her campaign promises aren’t centered around kicking me off the planet.”

“It must be concerning to you to see how rapidly Alcide Cesare was able to raise resentment of migrant workers in poorer Arieli natives.” Qui-Gon intervened before the conversation became too heated.

“I didn’t have my head buried in the sand. The resentment was always there.” Alessa sighed, pinching the bridge of her nose. “The native poor citizens of Arieli blame us for stealing their jobs and being willing to work for less credits than they are just so we can survive and try to create a better life for ourselves here.”

“I see.” Qui-Gon nodded as she confirmed what he had surmised about the volatile situation on Arieli between the migrant workers and the native poor. “Would you want better wages and working conditions like the poorer natives of Arieli seek?”

“Obviously.” Alessa snorted. “I just haven’t been smoking enough spice to believe that’s possible.”

“It might be possible if you worked with the poorer natives of Arieli to achieve those common goals.” Qui-Gon planted planted a seed he could only hope would grow into a towering green tree. “You could accomplish more if you cooperated with one another rather than fought each other with all your strength so you have none left to campaign for the changes you truly want.”

“How can I cooperate with those who hate me on principle?” Alessa waved her palm in a brisk dismissal of this absurd notion, but Qui-Gon sensed with some satisfaction that it had taken root deep in her mind.

“I’ll leave you to ponder that question.” Qui-Gon stood with a bow, Obi-Wan shadowing him. “Thank you for your time. I feel I have a better understanding of the situation on Arieli now.”

“You don’t really believe that the migrant workers will be able to cooperate with the native poor on Arieli to achieve any meaningful political change, do you, Master?” Obi-Wan gazed at him skeptically once they had stepped out of Alessa’s conapt.

“If I didn’t believe that, Padawan, I’d have no hope whatsoever for this mission.” Qui-Gon smiled serenely in the face of his apprentice’s incredulity.

“You must think the mission is hopeless then.” Obi-Wan was gawking like a fish out of water. “Surely the migrant workers and the poor natives of Arieli are as likely to band together to achieve common goals as the Jedi are to ally with the Sith.”

“The Sith are extinct.” A twinkle came to Qui-Gon’s eyes at his Padawan’s youthful exaggeration. “Neither the migrant workers nor the poor natives of Arieli are so despite what fate either faction might wish upon the other.”

“Long may the Sith stay extinct.” Obi-Wan gave a shudder that Qui-Gon could only assume was affected in this hallway that felt hotter than Mustafar lava.

“I certainly hope they remain extinct in my lifetime.” Qui-Gon steered his apprentice down the corridor with a gentle hand to the shoulder. “Come. Let’s discover if Lazzaro Quintino is as dubious of the prospect of unity between migrant workers and the native poor on Arieli as you are.”

Obi-Wan muttered something that sounded suspiciously similar to: “If he has two brain cells to rub together, he will be.”

“Would you repeat that, my young apprentice?” Qui-Gon arched an eyebrow as if he hadn’t heard his Padawan’s words.

“I said if he has two brain cells to rub together, he’ll listen to you, Master,” answered Obi-Wan so swiftly Qui-Gon had to admire his quick wit.

“Very clever, Obi-Wan,” Qui-Gon observed dryly. “I’m sure you’d never question me.”

“Never, Master,” Obi-Wan agreed with such earnestness that Qui-Gon almost believed him. “The Sith will return before I question you.”


	8. Swimming Upstream

Swimming Upstream

The brown line airbus they took to Lazzaro Quintino’s address was as rusty as the gray line airbus with the same non-functional air cooling system. The only difference between the two airbuses seemed to be the brown line airbus had hard plastoid seats in the unappealing color of human excrement in apparent tribute to the name of its line. 

Lazzaro Quintino’s address turned out to be a small conapt in a drab building of gray ferrocrete. Inside the Jedi discovered there was no turbolift so they had to climb up ten flights of steep stairs to reach Lazzaro Quintino’s conapt. 

“You’re foreigners.” Lazzaro Quintino greeted them with a scowl, eyes lingering on the Jedi robes that couldn’t be confused with standard Arieli native attire. “What do you want?” 

“We’re Jedi.” Qui-Gon bowed. “We want only to ensure the re-count in Ariani proceeds fairly.” 

“Then at least you haven’t come to steal the jobs of hard-working native Arieli.” Lazzaro grunted. “Still doesn’t explain why you’re bothering me at my home.” 

“We have it on good authority that you’re the leader of the Workers of Ariani Party.” Qui-Gon inclined his head. “If so, we’d like to talk with you about your perception of the situation in Ariani.” 

“I’m the founder and the leader of the Workers of Ariani Party.” A rough pride gleamed in Lazzaro’s still stony gaze. “I’ll talk to you about the truth of what’s happening in Ariani and all of Arieli—how politicians on this planet have betrayed hard-working native Arieli in favor of foreign born migrant workers.” 

“I look forward to hearing what you have to say.” Qui-Gon followed Lazzaro into the main room of the conapt, shooting a stern glance at Obi-Wan, who had rolled his eyes at Lazzaro’s most recent remark. 

“You’ll sweat buckets in here.” Lazzaro plopped into a sofa that appeared to be all broken springs and stains, gesturing for the Jedi to settle into furniture that seemed just as beaten down by time and use. “My family can’t afford an air cooling system on my wife’s scant salary, but we couldn’t pay for it before I was fired for protesting how the big-wigs executives ruined the quality of life for everyday Arieli by bringing in migrant workers to do jobs that had once paid a decent wage for nothing close to a living wage.” 

“Most regular citizens of Ariani can’t afford air cooling systems?” Qui-Gon’s forehead furrowed. “Living in the tropical heat must be difficult without air cooling systems.” 

“Most regular citizens of Ariani can barely afford to put food in their bellies and a leaking roof over their heads.” Lazzaro snorted. “Most regular citizens of Ariani try to forget the days when it was easy to find a job in the resorts before all the jobs were stolen by migrant workers. Most regular citizens of Arieli try to forget that those jobs paid a livable wage that could support a family. Most regular citizens of Ariani try to forget that when their mothers and fathers were in the workforce, a person could work hard and provide for their family instead of working hard and still not being able to make ends meet for their family.” 

“Has it occurred to you that the migrant workers might want to do the same thing you do—work hard and provide for their families—and that’s why they immigrated here to work in the resorts and other places?” Qui-Gon arched an eyebrow in a question mark. 

“It doesn’t matter what they want.” Lazzaro looked at Qui-Gon as if Qui-Gon had a ferrocrete brain. “All that matters is the reality of what they’re doing to destroy the lives and families of native Arieli. They’re stealing our jobs and lowering our standards of living by doing work in exchange for a pittance of credits. Life on Arieli was much better before they came in droves.” 

“Nevertheless they could be allies to you if they could be persuaded to join you in advocating for better working and living conditions.” Qui-Gon persisted with his point in the face of Lazzaro’s scornful obstinance. “That’s what I sense you truly want to achieve—not removing migrant workers from this planet, but better working and living conditions for everyday citizens.” 

“No, I can’t ally with the migrant workers.” Lazzaro began shaking his head before Qui-Gon had finished speaking. “The migrant workers must not be allowed to stay any longer and leech off Arieli’s economy. Arieli must supply its own workers, and Arieli’s economy should be for the benefit of Arieli natives alone.” 

“You’re parroting Alcide Cesare’s talking points,” Obi-Wan observed dryly, ignoring the scathing stare Lazzaro fixed on him. “You can’t believe that he truly represents the best interests of regular Arieli workers when he was born with a silver spoon in his mouth.” 

“He’s a bigwig born to bigwigs.” Lazzaro shrugged. “I hate bigwigs for betraying Arieli, but he’s the only bigwig speaking on behalf of the regular citizens of Arieli. He’s the only voice we have so we must support him.” 

“You have a voice with the Workers of Ariani Party you founded.” Obi-Wan tone was calm, steady, and not sarcastic now, and Qui-Gon felt a surge of pride blaze in him as he watched his Padawan. “You don’t have to use it to parrot Alcide Cesare’s talking points. You can use it to advocate for yourself and your own interests, not Alcide Cesare’s.” 

“I hadn’t considered that.” Lazzaro’s eyes narrowed as if he were calculating a difficult equation in a new way. 

“We’ll leave you to consider that.” Qui-Gon rose and Obi-Wan mirrored him. “When you do, consider that your voice might be stronger if it joined with the Migrant Advocacy Group on certain key issues.” 

“I will.” Lazzaro gave a slow nod, a distant expression on his face. 

“Then we thank you for your time.” Qui-Gon bowed, his apprentice copying him, and they both stepped out of Lazzaro’s conapt. “We leave in peace.” 

“Master?” Obi-Wan sounded hesitant as they walked down the hallway toward the steep stairwell out of the building. 

“Yes, Padawan.” Qui-Gon laid an encouraging palm on Obi-Wan’s shoulder, prompting his apprentice to continue. 

“I thought that I’d find Lazzaro hateful when I met him because he supports a candidate who spews such xenophobic statements.” Obi-Wan bit his lip. “Yet despite all his scoffing I find him a sad, almost sympathetic being.” 

Qui-Gon had a similar impression, but to promote the growth of Obi-Wan’s own perceptions, he asked, “Why did you find him such a sad, almost sympathetic figure?” 

“You know how you said when the Council assigned us this mission that Arieli is a big fish in a small pond and we can expect the people to act as if they’ve forgotten that there’s always a bigger fish?” Obi-Wan cast an inquiring glance up at Qui-Gon as they began their descent on the steep staircase. At Qui-Gon’s nod, he went on, “Well, I thought that Lazzaro was painfully aware that he was a small fry in a little river flowing rapidly into a big sea where he knows he and his fellow fries will quickly be eaten alive by the bigger fish, so he’s trying desperately to swim upstream against the tide that is inevitably carrying him and the other fries into the ocean.” 

“A very poetic assessment but an accurate one, I believe.” Qui-Gon had to agree with his apprentice’s analogy. “We can only hope that he’ll realize that he can’t swim upstream so it would be wiser for him to join his school of fish with another before they enter the ocean.” 

“Do you think he’ll realize that?” Obi-Wan cocked his head. 

“He listened to what we had to say and seemed to have opened his mind to our arguments by the end of our visit with him. That may be the first step of his realization or it may not.” Qui-Gon refused to speculate beyond that, grounding himself in the present moment. 

“Strictly speaking, we may have overstepped our mandate to oversee the re-count in Ariani by talking to him and Alessa at all, Master,” Obi-Wan commented. 

“Strictly speaking, yes, we may be.” Qui-Gon smiled crookedly for he had been wondering when Obi-Wan would remember the rules of their assignment. “Does that bother you, Padawan?” 

“Not as much as it should, Master.” Obi-Wan’s face split into a twisted grin. 

“I’ll turn you into a rebel yet, my young apprentice.” Qui-Gon chuckled softly. 

“Master Yoda will be most displeased if you do.” Obi-Wan, Qui-Gon knew, had always had a special relationship with the ancient and esteemed Jedi Master, who often went out of his way to give Obi-Wan an extra bit of advice or affection. 

“He’ll live with the disappointment,” Qui-Gon replied, thinking of what he always told himself whenever he was forced to disappoint the most revered member of their Order. “He’s survived worse in his hundreds of years as a Jedi.”


	9. Shared Suspicion

Shared Suspicion

The next day Qui-Gon and Obi-Wan spent the morning ferried from voting station to voting station to oversee that the re-count was proceeding fairly according to the protocol established at their meeting with the Head of State and two candidates for the position. As afternoon approached, the transport Head of State Darius had appointed for them carried them to the voting station for the district next to the tourist one where they were staying. 

As the airspeeder flew through the streets of this neighboring district, Qui-Gon and Obi-Wan quickly realized that it was a retirement one with brightly painted condominiums and assisted living facilities. Each condominium complex and assisted living facility seemed to have its own florid, tropical garden out front and oceanfront patio or balcony in the back. White-haired or bald denizens floated around the gardens in hoverchairs or basked in the sunlight on lounge chairs overlooking the ocean. 

“Must cost a pretty pile of credits to retire here,” Obi-Wan commented as their airspeeder landed in front of the community center that had apparently been appropriated to serve as the district’s voting station. 

Qui-Gon nodded in absent agreement as they debarked the transport. 

“I’m Gian Ilario, manager of the re-count at this voting station.” A man stepped out from the shade of an overhang to greet the Jedi with a bow as they stepped out of the airspeeder. 

Qui-Gon and Obi-Wan returned the bows, Qui-Gon introducing both of them and commenting as they were guided into the coolly climate-controlled community center, “This district seems to be mostly comprised of retirees.” 

“That is correct.” Gian nodded. “Over seventy-five percent of the population in this district is made up of retirees. The remainder of the population is mainly family members and medical staff who live with the retirees to provide necessary care and company.” 

“Not all the retirees are independently mobile then,” Qui-Gon remarked. “How do the retirees who aren’t independently mobile cast their votes?” 

“They apply to the government for mail-in ballots, or they’re transported to the voting station on election day,” explained Gian as they entered a large room echoing with the conversations of people hunched over ballots. “Both candidates provided free transport to and from the voting station for retirees, and many of the condominiums and assisted living facilities you passed on the way here likewise offer complimentary transport for their residents.” 

“I see.” Qui-Gon absorbed this information with a nod. “Thank you.” 

“I’ll leave you to inspect operations here without my hovering over you.” Gian bowed and retreated from them. 

Qui-Gon and Obi-Wan separated, pacing through the groups re-counting ballots at tables spaced at even intervals throughout the room. Qui-Gon noticed nothing untoward occurring at any of the tables though one woman did emanate a certain anxiety—as if she wanted to confide some secret in him— as he passed her table. 

“Excuse me.” The woman rose from her table after he had passed behind her. “I need to get a cup of caf to refresh myself.” 

“Get me one as well, would you?” The man sitting across from her requested. “I could use the energy boost.” 

“Of course.” The woman smiled and disappeared through a door that Qui-Gon assumed must lead to a break room where a caf dispenser was located. 

Acting on his intuition, Qui-Gon trailed her into the otherwise empty break room. 

“I was hoping you’d follow me.” The woman turned from placing a disposable cup under the caf dispenser to offer Qui-Gon a tight smile. “I have a suspicion to share with the Jedi.” 

“Oh?” Qui-Gon arched an eyebrow as he picked up a disposable cup of his own, intending to fill it with caf from the dispenser to establish his alibi for entering the break room. 

“As part of the re-count, I have access to the list of registered voters for this district.” The woman’s hand was trembling around her cup so much that Qui-Gon feared she would spill the boiling caf all over herself. “My mother is a resident in an assisted living facility a couple of blocks from here. That’s why I volunteered at this voting station to help other retirees like her, you know. Anyway, in reviewing the list of registered voters for this district, I noticed that some of the names of residents in her assisted living facility who are now deceased were still present on the list.” 

“It might be other residents with the same names.” Qui-Gon tried to calm the woman though he had an uneasy feeling himself. 

“Yes, it might.” The woman finished filling her cup of caf and slipped a second one for her table companion under the dispenser. “Still, I thought this was something the Jedi should look into what with the rumors of dead people voting in this election.” 

“The Jedi will investigate this,” Qui-Gon assured her, beginning to fill his own cup of caf as she stepped away from the dispenser. “Thank you for sharing your information with us.” 

With a nod, she left the break room to return to the proceeding re-count. For several minutes Qui-Gon lingered, sipping at his caf. Then when he was certain his exit wouldn’t be linked with hers, he strode out of the break room, and continuing to sip at his caf, resumed his inspection of the re-count unfolding throughout the voting station. 

“Where did you get that caf, Master?” Obi-Wan joined Qui-Gon at his elbow. 

“There’s a break room with a caf dispenser through a side door,” answered Qui-Gon, tilting his head toward the doorway to which he referred. 

“And you didn’t think to grab me a caf?” Obi-Wan emitted what was plainly intended as a long-suffering sigh. 

“In your youth, Padawan, you shouldn’t need caf to ignite your engines. Caf is only to get old bones like me moving.” Qui-Gon took a serene swallow of his caf, ignoring Obi-Wan’s skeptical snort. “Come. I wish to speak with Gian about attaining a list of the registered voters for this district.”


	10. Necessary Authorization

Necessary Authorization

“Have you completed your inspection of this voting station?” Gian asked as the Jedi circled back to him, and Qui-Gon had the distinct impression that this man would be relieved when they departed the voting station he managed. 

“Almost.” Qui-Gon treated the man to a faint smile, hoping to set him at ease if he was innocent. Sometimes innocent being became nervous around the Jedi, fearing mystical Force powers. “There’s only one more thing you could do to help us.” 

“I’ll do anything in my power to assist the Jedi, of course.” Gian gave what seemed to be a flustered bow. 

“We’d like a copy of the list of registered voters for this district.” Qui-Gon spoke in a low tone, hoping to avoid the attention of the nearby people bent over the ballots they were re-counting. 

“Let’s discuss this matter in more detail in the privacy of my office.” Gian kept his voice hushed as Qui-Gon’s and pivoted sharply on his heel, leading the Jedi down a hallway and into an office cramped with filing cabinets and flimsi stacked in precarious heaps on a wood desk. Gesturing for Qui-Gon and Obi-Wan to take two chairs in front of his desk that were by some miracle of the Force clear of clutter, he went on, “You must understand this is a most unusual request.” 

“Jedi are unusual beings prone to making unusual requests.” Qui-Gon maintained a patient, pleasant tone. “It’s an occupational hazard.” 

“You must understand that it might comprise the privacy of our registered voters.” Gian drummed his fingers on a fraction of desk not buried beneath a mound of flimsi. “Is there a particular reason the Jedi would like access to this information? Do you suspect voter fraud? There have been rumors…” 

“There have been rumors, but no hard evidence of voter fraud here or at other voting stations throughout the city.” Qui-Gon hoped this might appease Gian into compliance. “The Jedi only wish to perform a routine inspection of your list of registered voters. There’s no cause for undue concern on your part.” 

“Yes, of course.” Gian’s fingers continued to beat a tattoo on his desk. “It’s just I’m not certain the Jedi have the required authorization to access confidential copies of our registered voters.” 

“You aren’t?” Qui-Gon arched an eyebrow, patience finally beginning to fade. “The Head of State promised me that everyone at the voting stations would be quick to comply with any requests made by the Jedi in the course of monitoring the re-count. If I comm the Head of State’s office now, I’ve no doubt I can obtain any authorization you require.” 

“Oh, that won’t be necessary.” Gian rushed to assure Qui-Gon, not at all to Qui-Gon’s surprise. In Qui-Gon’s extensive experience on worlds from one spiral arm of the galaxy to the other, beings of Gian’s personality became very accommodating as soon as a mention of their superior was made. “Of course the Jedi can have a copy of our list of registered voters despite the irregularity of the request. In fact, the Jedi can have mine.” 

Gian thrust a list of registered voters that spanned many sheets of flimsi to Qui-Gon, who in turn handed it to Obi-Wan. 

“Thank you.” Qui-Gon rose, gesturing for Obi-Wan to do the same. “We’ll take our leave now and trust you to manage your voting station.” 

Gian offered a formal farewell, his expression betraying how eager he was to have the Jedi out of his voting station, where they could make no further unusual requests of him. 

Once they had stepped out of the voting station, Qui-Gon cast an appraising gaze over his apprentice. His Padawan, he thought, was more logical, more naturally analytical than him. That would be a useful talent in sifting through all the details of the registered voters on the list Gian had provided. Obi-Wan would be the one to investigate the list for any fraudulently registered voters, while Qui-Gon would follow his instincts in other directions. 

“I want you to return to our quarters and review this list for any fraudulently registered voters.” Qui-Gon tried to make his command clear without compromising Obi-Wan’s ability to offer an objective assessment. “Check for any listed voters who might be underage…” 

“Underage in a district of retirees, Master?” Obi-Wan shot him a dubious glance. 

Ignoring this interruption, Qui-Gon elaborated, expanding the parameters of Obi-Wan’s search, “Look also for any registered voters who might be deceased or even ones who might never have existed at all.” 

“Should I be suspicious of voter fraud, Master?” Obi-Wan’s face was keen—alight with the prospect of an intellectual challenge—now. 

“You should be suspicious of nothing, Padawan,” Qui-Gon chided. “I need your eyes open to information but your judgment unclouded by any preconceptions. Understand?” 

“Yes, Master.” Obi-Wan gave a small, determined nod. “I won’t fail you, I promise.” 

“You never have.” Qui-Gon gently steered his apprentice toward the transport Head of State Darius had provided for their use with a gentle hand on Obi-Wan’s shoulder. “Just trust in the Force to guide you. I’ll order our driver to drop you off at the resort before he takes me to attend to some things.” 

“What things will you attend to?” Obi-Wan wanted to know as Qui-Gon settled into the seat across from him after relaying the request to return Obi-Wan to the resort to their appointed driver. 

“Whatever my intuition leads me to do.” Qui-Gon kept his reply vague. He did intend to fill in Obi-Wan on his actions at some point, but not while they might impact Obi-Wan’s perception in analyzing the list of registered voters. 

Obi-Wan emitted an almost inaudible sigh that nevertheless effectively conveyed his discontent at being denied what he deemed relevant information, but posed no further questions during the ride back to the resort. 

“May the Force be with you, Padawan,” Qui-Gon said as the speeder landed outside the resort and Obi-Wan prepared to climb out of the vehicle. 

“May the Force be with you, Master,” echoed Obi-Wan, debarking the transport and striding toward the resort. 

Qui-Gon watched his apprentice vanish into the resort as the transport sped away to the voting station in another retirement district Qui-Gon had asked the driver to carry him to after leaving the resort. 

Qui-Gon inspected this station, obtaining a copy of its registered voters. He continued to do the same in the rest of the city’s retirement districts. Some managers of the voting stations were happy to oblige his request for a list of registered voters, while others needed to be persuaded in the same way Gian had been. 

Returning to the speeder after acquiring these lists, Qui-Gon felt grimly satisfied. If there was no evidence of voter fraud on these lists, at least Gian wouldn’t be suspicious if he reached out to fellow voting station managers in similar situations to discover if Qui-Gon request had truly been routine…

He ordered the driver to take him to the government building where he had met with Head of State Darius before he even picked up his comlink to contact Catia to request a meeting with her. 

“Catia, it’s Qui-Gon Jinn speaking,” he said into his comlink when she answered his call. “I need to meet with you at once to discuss some questions that have materialized in the course of monitoring the re-count.” 

“I’ll be happy to answer any Jedi questions.” Catia’s reply came as swiftly as Qui-Gon had known it would. “Please come to me at the government building where you met Head of State Darius as soon as possible. I’ll be waiting outside to lead you up to my office.” 

“I’m on my way. Thank you.” Qui-Gon closed the connection and leaned into the cushions of the speeder, watching a beautiful and peaceful city that concealed so much ugliness and unrest flicker by the viewport.


	11. Stronger United

Stronger United

As the speeder approached the government building where Qui-Gon would meet Catia, he saw that the square before it was thronging with protestors much as it had been when he and Obi-Wan met Head of State Darius at the start of their mission. This time the protestors seemed to be shouting as one voice rather than screaming contradictory slogans at each other, and their placards all bore messages demanding a higher standard of living rather than advocating for a particular candidate. 

He wondered if the seeds he had planted in Alessa’s and Lazzaro’s minds had borne fruit so quickly. As the speeder landed before the government building and he stepped out onto the square, he had to wonder no longer for as if his thoughts had summoned them, Alessa and Lazzaro materialized from the crowd to stand at his elbows. 

“We thank you for bringing us together so we could shout as one voice for change,” Alessa said, a hope radiating off her that Qui-Gon hadn’t sensed from her when he had spoken with her in her conapt. Her apparent alliance with Lazzaro and his native workers of Ariani had altered her demeanor. “We believe the government will have to hear us now.” 

“We’re all demanding the same things—fair wages that support a decent standard of living,” added Lazzaro. “They can’t fool us into fighting each other any more.” 

“Lazzaro reached out to me first.” Alessa took up the thread of Lazzaro’s thought. “That’s when we realized we shared the same goals.” 

“We’re the United Workers and Migrants of Ariani Advocacy Group now.” Lazzaro’s eyes were no longer stony—just determined to succeed for the new party he had created with Alessa. “Nothing they do will be able to tear us apart now

“I’m glad to hear it.” Qui-Gon had to smile at the different faces fighting for the future of their world. “Together you’ll be much stronger than you ever were divided. I believe you’ll achieve all the change you want.” 

Satisfied that he had contributed more than just a fairly monitored re-count to this planet in turmoil, he nodded a farewell to the two leaders of the united party before taking his leave of them, striding through the mass of protestors to reach the door to the government building, where Catia waited for him surrounded by a squad of security officers. 

“I noticed you were waylaid by two of our more strident protestors,” remarked Catia once they had exchanged greetings. “I did consider dispatching security to rescue you but decided it was best not to risk a potentially violent confrontation. I hope you weren’t treated to any of their more outlandish ideas.” 

“Nothing that came out of their mouths sounded particularly outlandish to me.” Qui-Gon fixed a level gaze on her, observing inwardly that only the most punctilious government officials would find anything outlandish about demanding decent living standards and fair wages. “As to dispatching security, I assure you that Jedi are quite capable of protecting ourselves if we feel threatened, which I did not, and that we always seek peaceful solutions rather than violent confrontations.” 

“We in the Arieli government also value peace and order, which is why we cannot allow either to be threatened by outlandish ideas and outrageous demands.” Cold politeness carved into her features, Catia invited him into the government building. 

Her high heels clicking on the marble floor, she led him through the refreshing chill of the climate-controlled atrium to a turbolift that carried them up to a conference room. Once they had seated themselves in opposite chairs at a table decorated with potted tropical plants, Catia addressed the reason for his visit. “You mentioned that questions had emerged for you in the course of monitoring our re-count, and I assured you that I would answer them.” 

“That was very gracious of you, and I’ll do my best not to take up too much of your time.” With that pleasantry dispensed with, Qui-Gon decided to ask the principal question that had brought him here. “As a matter of routine when monitoring a re-count, the Jedi may request to review the lists of registered voters. In doing so, it is helpful to understand the process of how voters are added and removed from the lists of various districts.” 

“Ah, that is a process that sounds complicated but is straightforward.” Catia looked smug at having the opportunity to explain Arieli’s voter registration system to an interested outsider. “To register to vote in a district, a voter must provide government-approved proof of his or her age and residency in the district. Government documents providing proof of birth and address are necessary to be registered to vote in any Arieli district.” 

“I see.” Qui-Gon inclined his head gravely, absorbing every word Catia told him about the voter registration process on Arieli. “Who determines whether adequate proof of age and residency has been provided?” 

“Each district has clerks to record requests for voter registration complete with the documentation offered to provide proof of age and address,” explained Catia. “However, the ultimate decision to approve or deny any request for voter registration is the purview of the manager of the voting station in that district. He or she is expected to review the authenticity of all proof of age and address offered on any requests for voter registration.” 

“You’ve been very helpful.” Qui-Gon now didn’t doubt that if there was voter fraud in any of the Ariani districts, the mangers of the voting stations in question would be responsible for it, but he also understood that they would only be creatures someone else was manipulating on a dejarik board. They would be small fish doing the bidding of bigger fish in the sea. The true challenge wouldn’t be catching the little fish in crime but the big fish who ordered where they swam. 

“You’re curious about voter registration.” Catia’s gaze was keen as it cut into him. “Do the Jedi suspect voter fraud?” 

“The Jedi are always alert to the possibility of voter fraud when monitoring a re-count, but no proof of voter fraud has been found.” Qui-Gon rose from the conference table. “Thank you for your time. I will return to monitoring the re-count.” 

His brain whirling with the implications of what Catia had revealed to him about the voter registration process on Arieli, Qui-Gon had the speeder fly him back to the resort where he and Obi-Wan were staying for the duration of their mission on Arieli. Wondering what Obi-Wan might have discovered in his examination of the voter registration records, Qui-Gon entered the resort and took the turbolift up to their penthouse suite. 

Obi-Wan glanced up, face tinged blue by the light of his datapad, as Qui-Gon accessed the door panel and walked into their suite, observing dryly, “This district of retirees has some very dedicated voters who managed to vote years after their death. Their undying devotion to democracy is truly inspiring.” 

“What proof do you have that they’re dead?” Qui-Gon sat on the sofa beside his Padawan so he could study the documents Obi-Wan had on the glowing screen. 

“I cross-referenced government records of addresses and deaths with the obituaries listed in the archives of local holonews pages.” Obi-Wan tapped between each screen as he mentioned it, and Qui-Gon had to admire how meticulous in logic and research his apprentice had been. “Over a thousand of the registered voters in this district are deceased, Master. I made a separate list of the names of the fraudulently registered voters.” 

“You did well with your research. I thought you might discover that.” Qui-Gon pinched the bridge of his nose, a foreboding feeling that the voter fraud would not be limited to one district sweeping through him. “Unfortunately, this pattern of voter fraud might be repeated in more than one district. There might very well be more districts where dead people have been allowed to vote.” 

“I can research that.” There were dark bags under Obi-Wan’s eyes, but his face still shone with eagerness as he reached for the lists of registered voters for other districts tucked in Qui-Gon’s hands. 

“I’ll research that.” Qui-Gon shifted the lists so his apprentice couldn’t grab them. “You’ll get some rest. You look as if you need it.” 

“I’m not tired at all, Master.” Obi-Wan had to conceal a yawn that belied this claim behind a palm. “I’ve never been more awake, in fact.” 

“Your sleep coach is calling your name, Padawan.” Qui-Gon lifted the datapad from Obi-Wan’s lap and placed it on his own. “Listen to it.” 

Obi-Wan stood and made his way to the door that led into their sleeping quarters, but when he reached it, he spun on his heel to ask, “What are we going to do about the voter fraud, Master?” 

“You’re going to sleep now.” Qui-Gon kept his focus on the datapad. “I’m going to investigate if voter fraud has occurred in other districts. Good night, my young apprentice.” 

“You never tell me anything.” Obi-Wan emitted what was no doubt intended to be a long-suffering sigh. 

“I’m telling you to go to sleep now.” Unimpressed by his apprentice’s stubbornness, Qui-Gon fixed a stern gaze on his Padawan. 

“I’m going.” Obi-Wan lifted his palms in a gesture of surrender before disappearing into their sleeping quarters. 

Qui-Gon began to dig into the lists of registered voters from other districts and was grimly unsurprised to uncover incidents of voter fraud where deceased people had been registered to vote in every district. The voter fraud spanned far beyond Gian Ilario. The Jedi would have to speak with Head of State Darius about this first thing tomorrow morning. He’d have to contact Catia to arrange the appointment.


	12. The Fish Rots from the Head

The Fish Rots from the Head

The next morning Qui-Gon sat on the suite’s sofa, staring out at the waves washing against the black beach that was already filled with couples strolling hand-in-hand along the shore or spread out on towels to soak in the first rays of the golden sun. He fished his comlink out of his pocket and entered Catia’s frequency. 

“Head of State’s office, Catia speaking.” Catia’s tone had an edge to it that suggested that she hadn’t yet enjoyed her morning iced caf. 

“It’s Qui-Gon Jinn.” Qui-Gon watched a lady far below remove her sandals and begin to dance in the ocean. “I wish to schedule an appointment to speak with Head of State Darius as soon as possible.” 

“May I ask what about?” Catia suddenly sounded much more awake. 

“The election.” Qui-Gon had no intention of revealing to her what he had discovered about the voting fraud occurring in Ariani though he imagined she would have her suspicions after their conversation yesterday. Let her have her suspicions, he thought as he watched the lady’s husband join her in the waves, the white foam of the water rising to surround his kneecaps as the tide ebbed and flowed around him. 

“I respect the need for secrecy.” Catia gave a faint sniff that conveyed the opposite impression. “I’ve scheduled you for the next appointment with the Head of State in an hour’s time. Will that be suitable?” 

“Yes, thank you. You’ve been very helpful.” Qui-Gon ended the connection, smiling slightly as he heard the first sounds of Obi-Wan stirring from his sleep couch and dressing in the next room. 

Grabbing a jogan fruit from a ceramic bowl serving as a centerpiece on the caf table, Qui-Gon continued to gaze down at the beach below, noting that his Padawan wasn’t the only young person awake at the resort. Children with their parents were beginning to join the couples, building sand castles and swimming in the shallows of the ocean. 

“Another beautiful morning on Arieli,” remarked Obi-Wan, emerging from their sleeping quarters. Slipping onto the veda sofa across from Qui-Gon, he snatched up a piece of liwi fruit from another ceramic bowl on the caf table. “Will you add to its beauty by telling me what you wouldn’t last night?” 

“Were you sulking all night, Padawan?” Qui-Gon’s attempt at a reproachful head shake was undercut by the amusement he could feel tugging at his lips. 

“I never do anything so undignified as sulk, Master.” Obi-Wan’s indignation was muffled by the succulent liwi fruit in his mouth. 

Qui-Gon grunted dubiously at this statement before filling his apprentice in on the further incidents of voter fraud he had uncovered once Obi-Wan had been sent to sleep. 

“That’s so much voter fraud.” Obi-Wan finished the liwi fruit and reached out for a jogan fruit, starting to devour it with equal speed. Not even a black hole could vacuum up food as fast as his Padwan, Qui-Gon often thought with wry affection. “How does it happen?” 

“Catia explained the process of voter registration to me yesterday.” Qui-Gon answered for the mechanics of corruption rather than the morality of it because that needed to remain the focus of their discussion. “To register to vote in a district, a voter must provide government-approved proof of his or her age and residency in the district. Government documents providing proof of birth and address are necessary to be registered to vote in any Arieli district. Each district has clerks to record requests for voter registration complete with the documentation offered to provide proof of age and address. However, the ultimate decision to approve or deny any request for voter registration is the purview of the manager of the voting station in that district. He or she is expected to review the authenticity of all proof of age and address offered on any requests for voter registration.” 

“So Ariani has a lot of corrupt managers of voting stations.” Obi-Wan’s forehead furrowed as he ate the last of the jogan fruit. 

“Yes, but what motivates these managers of voting stations to be corrupt?” Qui-Gon steepled his fingers. He had formulated a theory but was curious to see how quickly Obi-Wan would arrive at the same conclusion he had. “What benefit do they receive from being corrupt in registering deceased voters?” 

“What always motivates corrupt politicians.” Obi-Wan made a scoffing noise as he snagged a second liwi fruit from a ceramic bowl. “Credits, power, and the opportunity to give and receive political favors.” 

“Yes, but who promised them credits and political favors in this instance?” Qui-Gon arched an eyebrow. “Have you heard the expression that the fish rots from the head?” 

“You mean a candidate for Head of State offered credits and political favors to the managers of the voting stations to convince them to register dead people to vote in the election?” Obi-Wan’s eyes were wide as the liwi fruit he had just grabbed. “I suppose it’s more likely that one person organized the effort than that all these managers of voting stations coincidentally decided to be corrupt in the same fashion in the same election.” 

“That would indeed seem to be very coincidental.” Qui-Gon nodded grimly. “Almost as coincidental as all the voting stations with the corrupt managers being in retirement districts.” 

“Retirees would support Alcide Cesare.” Obi-Wan understood Qui-Gon’s implication in a heartbeat. “Do you think it was him who bribed the voting station managers to register dead people to vote?” 

“That’s exactly what I think.” Qui-Gon confirmed the suspicion that had been growing in him since yesterday. Fixing his apprentice with a slight smile, he added, “I hope Head of State Darius will be as swift on the uptake as you. We’ll be meeting with him”—he checked his chrono—“in half an hour so we should leave now.” 

“We don’t have any proof that Alcide Cesare is behind the corruption, Master.” Obi-Wan rose and followed Qui-Gon out of the suite. “The Head of State might not want to be perceived as persecuting another political figure without cause. That could open him up to charges of corruption himself. Politicians are often more wary of those than actual corruption.” 

“We’ll have to persuade him that there is a way to obtain evidence against Alcide Cesare.” Qui-Gon pressed the button to summon the turbolift to take them down to the lobby. “He should arrest the corrupt voting station managers and learn if some of them are willing to talk.” 

“They might be convinced to give evidence against Alcide Cesare in plea bargain for a lighter sentence.” Obi-Wan’s eyes gleamed as the turbolift arrived with a heraldic chime. “A brilliant idea, Master.” 

“I’m glad you approve.” Gently teasing, Qui-Gon ruffled his Padawan’s hair as they boarded the turbolift, Obi-Wan pressing the button for the lobby. “I live for your approval, Padawan.”

Obi-Wan muttered something dry and wistful under his breath that might have been: “If only that were true, Master, my life would be much less stressful…” 

Grinning inside, Qui-Gon refrained from commenting on his apprentice’s impertinence.


	13. Caught in the Net

Caught in the Net

“How can I help the Jedi?” Head of State Darius wore a wide, welcoming smile as he gestured for Qui-Gon and Obi-Wan to settle into a pair of plush chair across from him in an ornately furnished meeting, but there were gray bags under his eyes that alerted Qui-Gon to the fact that the Head of State had suffered sleepless nights throughout the election re-count. That could be good or bad, depending on the Head of State’s disposition. Good if he was inclined to ensure the accuracy of the election results. Bad if he merely wished as smooth and swift a conclusion to the re-count as possible. Yet Qui-Gon could only advise the Head of State and then trust in the Force that influenced and created all life to do the rest. “Catia mentioned it was urgent.” 

“In the process of overseeing the re-count, my apprentice and I have uncovered evidence of deceased beings voting in the election.” Qui-Gon surrendered himself to the will of the Force as he offered this unvarnished reply. 

“You mean the rumors of fraud.” Head of State Darius blinked before regaining his composure. “I have heard those too yet rumors aren’t enough to convict anyone of fraud.”

“Not rumors.” Qui-Gon shook his head. “Evidence obtained by cross-referencing voter registration records in various retirement districts with records of the deceased. Evidence that confirms such voter fraud occurred across multiple retirement districts presided over by different managers.” 

“You speak of evidence.” Head of State Darius frowned. “It would have to be airtight for me to risk bringing charges in a situation as politically fraught as this, you understand, Master Jedi.” 

“Completely. That’s why I’ve taken the liberty of downloading to this datachip all the evidence of fraud my Padawan and I have uncovered.” Qui-Gon nodded sagely. Ignoring the astonished expressions both Obi-Wan and Head of State Darius fixed upon him, he reached into the pocket of his robes, fingers finding a datachip tinier than his pinky that seemed so small to store all the information required to alter the electoral fate of an entire planet. Yet at the same time he was certain that the futures of a thousand planets had been shaped by smaller things. The midichlorians in his cells whispered that truth to him. 

“I’ll have to order my security forces and prosecutors to review this evidence before any formal charges can be leveled against the managers of these voting stations.” Head of State Darius accepted with a face set like ferrocrete the datachip Qui-Gon extended to him. “Such fraud carries harsh sentences upon conviction here on Arieli. A minimum of twenty years behind bars and a maximum of seventy. These aren’t charges that can be made lightly against anyone in such politically tense times.” 

“Jedi don’t make accusations lightly under any circumstances.” Obi-Wan’s tone was tart. 

“We respect your desire for fairness.” In the interest of not derailing the conversation, Qui-Gon refrained from sharing his speculation that it was more a politician’s instinct to avoid a potential scandal than a genuine concern for justice that motivated Head of State Darius. Such a comment would not be diplomatic nor would it advance the conversation in any constructive fashion. “That is why I would offer a suggestion on how justice might be most properly achieved in this instance.” 

“Jedi advice is always welcome.” Head of State Darius appeared to be bracing for another bombshell behind a polite, political mask. 

“We are by the ocean.” Qui-Gon tilted his chin toward the viewport through which could be glimpsed the glimmering blue-green waves of the ocean. 

“Less than a kilometer away.” Head of State Darius sounded nonplussed. 

“Then an oceanic analogy would be appropriate.” Qui-Gon eyed the Head of State keenly, convinced the man had to be shrewd enough to interpret his meaning if he had been elected the most powerful person on this planet. “What is the point of a net that ensnares the little fish but lets the big fish escape?” 

“It’s better to catch little fish than a big fish if the big fish is a shock.” Head of State Darius was grim as a fraud sentence on Arieli. 

“A shark like Alcide Cesare?” Qui-Gon posed the question though he knew the answer. 

“Yes.” Head of State Darius pressed his lips into a thin, white line. “If I tried to take him down for fraud, I would risk any charges leveled against him appearing to the public as potentially politically-fueled nonsense since we’re members of opposing parties that have been at one another’s throats for months.” 

“You’re members of opposing parties, and you’ve offered campaign speeches in support of Renza Osanna.” Obi-Wan, who had obviously listened to the speeches Head of State Darius had given to endorse Renza Osanna’s candidacy on the trip to Arieli, observed wryly. “I certainly see how that could create an awkward situation for you.” 

“It was a quid pro quo arrangement we made last election.” Head of State Darius drummed his fingers against his armrest. “I promised to endorse her candidacy in this election if she would would do the same for me in the previous one.” 

“You don’t have to confront Alcide Cesare directly. At least not at first.” Qui-Gon paused to ensure he had the Head of State’s full attention before he went on, “Should your security forces and prosecutors be convinced by the evidence against these voting station managers, have them brought in for questioning. In the course of this questioning, have your security officers and prosecutors allude to plea bargains that could significantly reduce their potential punishment if they agree to give testimony against the big fish who ordered them to engage in fraud.” 

“A big fish named Alcide Cesare.” There was no denying the intrigue in the Head of State’s voice and gaze. 

“Ah, but you won’t know that until the voting station managers begin to offer their testimonies per the terms of their plea bargains.” Qui-Gon gave a ghost of a grin. “So your actions could not have been politically motivated.” 

“I will have my security forces and prosecutors review the evidence on this datachip.” With a decisive nod, Head of State Darius rose to end the meeting. “Thank you for your time and counsel, Master Jedi. I will do all in my power to ensure that justice is done in the matter you brought to my attention.” 

Bowing, Qui-Gon and Obi-Wan took their leave. Once they were far enough down the corridor to be out of earshot, Obi-Wan muttered, “He’s not pursuing the pressing charges against the voting station managers or Alcide Cesare because it’s justice, Master. He’s only doing so because he’s been convinced that it’s in his own best interests.” 

“Nevertheless justice will be done because of his self-interest.” Qui-Gon rested a steadying hand on his Padawan’s taut shoulder, seeking to impart perspective on his apprentice. “Through the Force, his self-interest became the agent through which justice was done. Even the base and the banal can be put to sublime purpose through the transcendent will of the Force.” 

“Are there any beings more motivated by the base and the banal than politicians?” Obi-Wan’s scowl couldn’t be erased so easily. “It seems they’re all motivated by nothing noble.” 

“Some politicians are indeed motivated by noble causes and values.” Qui-Gon was patient in the face of his Padawan’s unrelenting cynicism. “It’s best not to judge beings by their careers. That would be an unfairness in itself.” 

“Yes, Master.” Obi-Wan ducked his head, but Qui-Gon had no doubt his apprentice’s abiding mistrust of politicians would demonstrate itself before the mission concluded. “I apologize for my cynicism.” 

“You wouldn’t be yourself if you weren’t cynical.” Qui-Gon smiled slightly. “I forgive you.”


	14. Turmoil and Opportunity

Turmoil and Opportunity

Over the next week, events played out much as Qui-Gon had envisioned when he spoke to Head of State Darius. As Qui-Gon had anticipated, upon reviewing the datachip, the security forces and prosecutors were convinced by the evidence of widespread electoral fraud he had provided. Per his suggestion, they took the managers of the voting stations where fraud had occurred in for questioning and offered plea bargains in exchange for testimony against the one who had persuaded them to engage in fraud. 

By the end of the week, there were many disgraced former managers of voting stations willing to testify in an Arieli court of law against Alcide Cesare, who had been charged with multiple counts of electoral fraud, any of which upon conviction would be enough to ensure that he was locked behind bars for the remaining decades of his life. 

With one of its chief candidates charged with multiple counts of electoral fraud and facing decades in prison, the election recount was halted and Renza Osanna was declared the victor more by default than popular acclaim. The signs proclaiming loyalty to favored candidates and parties or smearing opposing candidates and parties were taken down, and the protesting crowds disappeared, although Qui-Gon could sense tension and discontent continuing to simmer beneath a city that on the surface had regained serenity. 

Perhaps Renza Osanna with her long years of political experience detected these undercurrents of unease on the planet she would soon be expected to lead out of this crisis in faith for she invited the Jedi to a private meeting with her in a conference room of the governmental building at the beating heart of Ariani. 

“I should thank the Jedi for uncovering the electoral fraud that allowed me to become the Head of State elect by default if nothing else,” commented Renza Osanna in a tone that sounded more cool than grateful once she had exchanged formal greetings with Qui-Gon and Obi-Wan. 

“You owe us no thanks, My Lady.” Qui-Gon inclined his head, responding to her coolness with dispassion. “We uncovered the electoral fraud in service of Arieli, not you.” 

“Nevertheless I will lead Arieli because of your discovery.” Renza Osanna’s lips pursed. “It’ll be a difficult time of turmoil to lead the planet through, and yet it was a difficulty I asked for when I ran for the office of Head of State. I mustn’t flinch from it now. I’ve made my sleep coach and now I must lie in it.” 

Odd words to hear from a woman who should have felt she had achieved the greatest triumph of her life, but Qui-Gon had seen enough hollowness in the eyes of those who had fulfilled their wildest dreams only to realize that the pleasure was more in the dreaming than the attaining of lofty goals to not be stunned by the emptiness of them. There was a fullness in dreams, he had come to understand, and a void at the center of any accomplishment. That was the final irony—the last cruelty—of ambition. That was why the Jedi encouraged detachment and humble acceptance of the ever-shifting will of the Force. 

“You can see it as a time of turmoil or as a time of hope.” Qui-Gon knew that many of the people on Arieli wanted and needed change, but as a politician, Renza Osanna would have to be encouraged to perceive the change her planet needed not as a threat but as an opportunity. “You can be part of the change the people of Arieli are pushing for or you can resist it, but if you promote the change that is needed on Arieli, the people will love you for representing their interests.” 

“The political landscape is shifting.” Renza Osanna’s gaze was distant but shrewd as she stared out the window at the cityscape below lit by the blazing tropical sun above. “The Workers of Ariani Party that supported Alcide Cesare’s xenophobic rhetoric has merged with the Migrant Advocacy Group that sided with me for my acceptance of migrants. Now it is unclear if they’ll be for me or against me once I take office.” 

“They want reforms that grant workers—both native and migrant—more rights.” Qui-Gon stared into her calculating expression, watching as she considered these people by the votes they represented more than by the sentient rights to which they were entitled. “If you grant them such reforms on their behalf, their support of you should be secured.” 

“I’m prepared to make some concessions to that effect.” Renza Osanna gave a brisk nod. “I have a meeting with them tomorrow to discuss such reforms. Arieli must reform or it’ll collapse from social unrest. I can see that.” 

“Then you are wise.” At least by the standards of politicians, Qui-Gon amended his remark mentally. “Arieli should have a bright future bright as the tropical sun overhead thanks to your leadership.” 

“Thank you.” Renza Osanna’s frosty face warmed with a faint smile. “The Jedi will be remembered fondly for their work ensuring peace, order, and justice were maintained on Arieli.” 

It wouldn’t have been a proper political meeting on Arieli without at least one reference to the maintenance of order, Qui-Gon thought as he and Obi-Wan bowed, taking their leave from the Head of State elect with formal farewells. 

“Do you truly have such high hopes for Renza Osanna’s leadership, Master?” Obi-Wan asked as they boarded the turbolift that would bring them down to the government building’s ornate lobby. 

“I have high hopes for her leadership because I believe she’ll be held accountable by brave beings like Alessa and Lazzaro, and that she knows it.” Qui-Gon felt the levels flicker by as the turbolift dropped swiftly toward the lobby. “It’s the brave beings like Alessa and Lazarro that I place my true hopes in, Padawan, because it’s beings like them, not politicians, who are the lifeblood of every representative government in the galaxy. It’s their strength and courage that keeps the Republic from falling.” 

“If the Republic survived by the strength of its politicians, it would’ve collapsed from the corruption of its rotten politicians centuries ago.” Obi-Wan cracked a wry grin as the turbolift stopped in the lobby, opening its door with a heraldic chime. “I see what you mean, Master. I too have faith in what Alessa and Lazzaro might achieve if they work together.” 

“We’ll be leaving Arieli with a more hopeful future than it had when we arrived.” Qui-Gon ruffled his apprentice’s hair as they stepped out of the turbolift. “Let’s celebrate that.” 

“May we celebrate by visiting Water World?” Excitement glimmered in Obi-Wan’s blue eyes, and Qui-Gon was reminded of just how young his apprentice still was. 

“I suppose we can’t visit a resort city like this without taking advantage of all its charms.” Qui-Gon laughed as he agreed to Obi-Wan’s request, reflecting that sometimes it was necessary for Jedi to pause in the completion of their duties long enough to enjoy some of the rich pleasures the galaxy could offer in abundance to counter its terrible sufferings and challenges. A Jedi’s life would be devoid of meaning, he thought, if the Jedi refused all chances of pleasure in it. 

Half an hour later, he and his apprentice were one of the thousands in the teeming throngs that crowded Water World. All around him, children begged for snacks or beamed as they munched on the ones they had successfully induced their parents to purchase for them. Lines snaked through the park as children and their parents waited to ride slides that stretched as tall as skytowers. Screams of terror and delight echoed in the air as the riders plunged and wove down these watery attractions. 

Obi-Wan and Qui-Gon joined the end of one of these winding lines. They hadn’t been standing there long before a vendor with a cart of Neuvian sundaes rolled over to hawk his wares. 

“That man’s selling Neuvian sundaes, Master.” Obi-Wan tilted his chin at the vendor, obviously hoping for a sweet. 

“You’ll go green as Master Yoda if you have a sundae before going down a water slide.” Qui-Gon chuckled at Obi-Wan’s barely concealed begging. 

“I won’t.” Obi-Wan, ever headstrong, shook his head. “I’ll have plenty of time to digest while I wait on line. That’s why they sell sundaes at the beginning of the line, not the end of it.” 

Qui-Gon snorted.

Obviously interpreting the snort as an invitation to continue, Obi-Wan assumed a tone sweet as the sundaes hawked by the vendor. “You wouldn’t want me to tell Master Yoda what you said about going green, would you?” 

“You wouldn’t want to tell Master Yoda about that.” Qui-Gon smiled slightly at the transparency of his Padawan’s tactics. “Then we’d both be confined to the Temple for a month, and I know how you love to go on missions.” 

“An excellent point.” Obi-Wan paused before trying again. “I’m willing to compromise, Master. If you buy me a Neuvian sundae, I promise not to tell Master Yoda what you said about going green.” 

“You drive a hard bargain, Obi-Wan.” Qui-Gon studied his apprentice with fond exasperation. 

“Everything I know about negotiations, I learned from you.” Obi-Wan’s expression of exaggerated innocence didn’t slip for a second. 

More out of affection for the impish adolescent beside him than out of being outwitted by stubborn teenage logic, Qui-Gon flagged down the vendor and purchased a Neuvian sundae for his plainly pleased Padawan. 

“The joke will be on you when you get sick,” Qui-Gon teased as he watched Obi-Wan spoon mounds of frozen cream and tropical fruit into his mouth. 

“The last laugh will still be on you when I get sick all over you.” Undaunted, Obi-Wan shoveled spoonfuls of sundae into his mouth until Qui-Gon had to chuckle at the absurdity of the situation as the Arieli sun smiled down upon them with all the burning hopes of a million migrant and native dreams.


End file.
